Levels of Bliss
by Apapazukamori
Summary: Saya Monou knows there is more than one way to be happy.


**Levels of Bliss**

There is a light scent of purfume in the air as she applies a thin cover of makeup. There are those who would chastise her, caring about her looks at this time in her life. She has more important duties -- to her home, husband and children. She smiles at herself in the mirror. She's never listened to those people. After all, she's only twenty-eight, too young to resign herself to matronhood just yet. Besides, she thinks, she only does it once in a while. Because she has someone she feels like being pretty for. She puts the finishing touches on her face, tracing full lips with a light pink gloss. She feels giddy, as she always does when she undertakes this ritual, like she's back in high school and she's sneaking out of her parents' home for a secret rendezvous. Back then, she never imagined that she would continue the secrecy all the way into adulthood. Back then, she was in love without trappings, without obligation to anyone but her special person. Family, schoolwork, social niceties all fell by the wayside in favor of her happiness.

This is not to say she is unhappy with her present life. Over the past ten years, she has learned that bliss comes in many forms. Only now, having her special person so close again, she is happier than she can ever remember being.

She tucks the tube of lip gloss into her purse and finally pays attention to her hair. As she secures the mass of long blonde curls in a clip at the back of her head, a few strands fall forward to frame her still youthful face -- she is proud to say that she has yet to see one wrinkle mar her complexion -- and she has to admit to herself that she looks wonderful.

Pushing her chair back from the dressing table, she stands and smooths out her skirt. She shoulders her purse and remembers to close the bedroom door behind her. The room she leaves is dark, and will remain so until much later that night, when her husband goes to bed alone. This is part of the ritual too, the shedding of her wifely duties for one night out of thirty, thirty-one or twenty-eight, and finds happiness with one she loves but cannot be bound to.

She moves quietly down the hallway, noting that the door to her daughter's bedroom is wide open, the bed and the guest futon both empty. Rather than worry, she smiles, knowing where she'll find the pair. The next door is open just wide enough for two small bodies to fit through. She pauses here, pushing the door back on its hinges enough to peer inside, indulging in yet one more bit of bliss that happens this night, but is so different from the others.

The three children are cuddled up like a litter of puppies, the younger boy nestled securely between her son and daughter. It's escaped no one's notice, with the exception of the children themselves, that he comes to life when sheltered by the other two; watching him as often as she has, she is convinced that there are no three people better suited for one another than these little angels. Her son shifts in his sleep, curling closer to the boy he has his arms around, who has begun to murmur in a language only understood in dreams. Her daughter mumbles the little boy's name, and he relaxes. There will be no more disturbances to this peace tonight, of that, she is certain. She quietly closes the door, moving on lest she be late.

Her husband can be found in the living room, pouring over the evening paper. On a normal night, she would be sitting by him, ready with tea and light conversation. They have a wonderful relationship, he's supportive and gentle and kinder to her than she really deserves sometimes. Their marriage is not loveless, he certainly loves her a great deal. But she has always felt a sort of detatchment from him, one that she has tried to breach several times, but always finds she cannot. Her heart is for one person alone, and it isn't him. Instead, she makes do with feeling fondness, a lingering attraction she must have possessed in a much stronger fashion some time ago. They do have two children together, after all. He was handsome when they met, though much older than she. Ten years difference in age seemed a little scandalous, but his desire for the marriage had been so romantic. After a whirlwind of carefree romance, she suddenly found herself a grieving lover and a haunting waif who had captured the heart of an older man. Something fairy tales were spun of.

He doesn't sense her in the doorway, watching him with a slight, affectionate smile. One last glance around the room, then her feet find their way to the door, and slip into shoes carefully chosen to match her dress. The cicadas beckon her, harmonizing with the night birds and hum of electric lights, punctuated by the sound of a key turning in a lock. Good night, my unhappy happy life, she thinks.

I'll see you in the morning.


End file.
